


Taking You Down With Me

by houseofthestars



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Hubert von Vestra, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, creative use of silence spells, its carriage sex! enjoy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 10:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthestars/pseuds/houseofthestars
Summary: “Come along, Hubert. Now that we are on the subject, things have been rather... full tilt, as of late. Doesn’t it feel like too long since we even had a moment to stop and take coffee together? Let us take this 'enforced moment of respite' together.”
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 18
Kudos: 152





	Taking You Down With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hubert is a trans man in this fic and I use some feminine coded language for his bits, so just be aware of that. Please note the additional tags also.

The fertile stretch of countryside from Varley to the banks of Airmid River provides many of the crops for the rest of Adrestia. From the grain-rich fields of Gronder - whose battle scars have healed and softened along with those who fought and survived within her - to the damp yet fertile vegetable plots of Hrym, their prosperity and plenty is testament to the thriving nature of all of Fódlan in its new era of peace.

Or, as the Prime Minister chooses to recount it, his near pressed against the glass of the carriage window on his side as they rumble along: “Hubert, if I spend but another minute staring at these corn fields I may go simply mad with boredom.”

“Then might I suggest you do not look at the corn fields,” Hubert says absently, flicking the papers in his hands straight.

“You know that’s not what I mean. What I mean is—”

“I am well aware of what you mean.”

“—If we had simply taken Naida and Jacobine and ridden ourselves, _sans_ retinue, we might already be at our destination,” Ferdinand presses, as if he has not already said this several times.

“And I as I said to you before, and will continue to do every time you choose to reiterate your position: we are expected to return from Ordelia with several items for her Majesty that we could not transport on horseback alone.”

“Then an additional cart, for the return.”

“Oh? So you’d suggest the Prime Minister and the Minister for Interior Affairs arrive at their destination on horseback, dragging a cart behind them, rather than in a perfectly respectable Imperial carriage?”

Ferdinand groans. “There is no reasoning with you on this when you already approach it with a bias. You just don’t want to get back up on a horse, even though I know you would take straight back to the saddle.” The tone of Ferdinand’s voice in the last sentence suggests that he has uncovered a grave sin. “Honestly, Hubert. You might be a little achy as your muscles reacquaint themselves, but you’ve always been quick to recover.”

Hubert flicks the papers in his hand again and chooses not to rise to this particular bait, even if it is true. He’s quite sure that Jacobine, honourably retired after the war to the palace stables, feels just as reluctant to be reunited as he does. “If you are truly finding this journey so unbearably interminable, perhaps you might run through the supply agreement again with me.”

“You are hardly suggesting something more entertaining, Hubert.”

“I wasn’t aware it was necessary for me to be entertaining.”

“Or at least not repetitive. We have been through this agreement with a fine tooth comb. I dare say I could recite the section regarding wine duty by heart, like a treasured soliloquy, and I’m sure you could say the same.” Ferdinand leans back from the window, into the upholstered seat they share, and sighs with the sort of anguish that would rend weaker souls than Hubert’s asunder.

Not that Hubert is completely immune. He flicks his eyes up towards Ferdinand, who reclines listlessly and beautifully, like a divine entity entrusted with heaven’s bureaucracy, and barely suppresses his own sigh. Ferdinand always did manage to pull something close to religion out of him. “Ferdinand. We hardly have more than another hour and a half of travel left. Perhaps an enforced moment of respite should be welcomed.”

Ferdinand pulls a face. “Fine talk from the man who hasn’t put down his paperwork since we left Enbarr. I wasn’t even aware you were familiar with the concept,” he retorts, and then gives a sheepish grin, dimpling his freckled cheeks. “I suppose neither of us are particularly talented at taking life at a slower pace, eh?”

“Mmm,” Hubert agrees absently, but he’s already lifted the agreement to his face again and is frowning at paragraph 17b. He’ll need to make a note alongside this later. The whole thing perhaps needs rephrasing at a later date.

“Hubert!”

“What?”

Ferdinand looks exasperated. “You reek of hypocrisy, Minister. If I must relax, then I am taking you down with me.”

“I was perfectly content before you started complaining,” Hubert begins, but it turns into an undignified squawk when Ferdinand, with the speed and dexterity of a viper, snatches the papers out of his hand. He then proceeds to sit on them.

“There. Now you are as free of obligations as I am.”

“Give them back before you crease them, you insufferable cretin,” Hubert grouses and then inwardly winces as he hears a noise through the roof of the carriage: a barely suppressed snort of amusement from their driver, followed by a brief snigger from the footman.

“No, I shan’t,” Ferdinand says airily, either unhearing or uncaring, and then looks entreating. “Come along, Hubert. Now that we are on the subject, things have been rather... full tilt, as of late. Doesn’t it feel like too long since we even had a moment to stop and take coffee together? Let us take this 'enforced moment of respite' together.”

Ferdinand’s words are not without truth. Winning a war - _two wars_ \- may be one thing but governing an unified Fódlan and shaping it anew is certainly another. It seems that their duties are inexhaustible and neverending, robbing them of their free time and leaving them speaking only of Imperial matters, from either side of a desk.

Of course, their paths will cross outside of their roles, however briefly: usually in the early morning, one of them pouring themselves a cup from a still-warm coffee pot with a brief, fond note propped against it. Sometimes, one will briefly wake the other from slumber as they slip in beside them, for tired, wistful kisses before succumbing to exhaustion.

A far cry from their long tea breaks at the monastery, indeed, Hubert thinks wistfully. It seems rather unfair that they almost had more leisure time when in the midst of war. He looks at Ferdinand, still sat on the supply agreement but as handsome and as eager to share time with him as ever, and feels the same fragile flutter of his heart as he had many years ago.

“Very well, then. I’ll join you, if only to stop the accusations of hypocrisy,” Hubert says, and then lowers his voice. “Perhaps at a gentler volume, however. It appears we are providing a certain amount of entertainment to our retinue.”

“Yet another reason why riding alone would have been preferable,” Ferdinand is quick to point out, but by some inhuman feat of inner strength does manage to bring his voice lower. “Very well. We can be discreet—”

Something, however, then flashes across Ferdinand’s face, and he presses fingers to his own mouth, muffling some sudden amusement of his own.

“What are you giggling about now?” Hubert hisses.

Ferdinand looks at him, pulling his hand away, and the man is blushing. What kind of nonsense—

“Well,” Ferdinand says, his voice still low and the pink slow to fade from his cheeks.. “Something just occurred to me is all. But we needn’t dwell on it,” he adds, in a way that seems reluctant to stop dwelling on it.

“You may as well tell me," Hubert says, his own curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Fine. It is just, ah. As we said before, we've had little time to ourselves recently,” Ferdinand says, and there’s a coyness sliding into his tone that rings a silver alarm in the back of Hubert’s head. “And we are now both free to enjoy each other’s company at a little more leisure. If you are amenable.”

“Yes, that's what I said,” Hubert replies, but he can hear the faint questioning in his own voice.

Ferdinand presses one finger to the bow of his lips as a warning and then reaches over to a small velvet curtain, next to the window he’d been watching the corn through. With a quick tug the curtain is drawn, taking the light with it. Ferdinand then leans over Hubert, his frame lightly brushing Hubert’s and the faint smell of lavender rising from his hair, and does the same to the window on the other side. It throws them into almost-darkness, just thin strips of golden sunlight peeking through the curtain gaps and illuminating the dust that has risen from the velvet.

Satisfied with his work, Ferdinand does not fall back entirely into his place. Instead, the hand that tugged the curtain shut alights gently onto Hubert’s thigh, just above the knee.

Oh.

“Oh,” Hubert says, quietly, and Ferdinand smiles, leaning closer into Hubert’s body with the movement of the carriage, a solid warmth that Hubert hadn’t realised had been so absent until its dizzying return.

“I believe you have grasped my intentions,” Ferdinand murmurs, close to Hubert’s ear. “What say you?”

“We are in _public_ ,” Hubert hisses, even as the coy lilt of Ferdinand’s invitation sends a rush of heat to his face in time with the flutter of his pulse.

“Well. Of a sort. And…” and Ferdinand blushes again, here, while his hand travels a little further up Hubert’s thigh. “It’s rather exciting, in its way. Don’t you think?”

“Exciting?”

“Just, well.” Ferdinand is still red in the face. “We always have enjoyed a little bit of danger. Haven’t we? And surely you, of all people, would find a little bit of stealth... in your wheelhouse. As it were.”

“You are incorrigible,” Hubert whispers. The carriage rumbles along, and he can hear the driver and the footman quietly chatting outside, the singsong of birds in hedgerows, all too present, all too close. But at the same time Ferdinand’s fingers are tracing circles on the inside of Hubert’s thigh through his heavy trousers - and like a pet trained with a bell, the touch cannot help but send a brief jolt of heat through him.

“I prefer to think of it as confident in my own qualities,” Ferdinand says with a grin, but his hand pauses briefly. “...I do not mean to pressure you, darling. If you’d rather pass the time some more, ah, constructively, I will understand.”

So Ferdinand says, as if he had not ignited the spark, set it to tinder. 

“You seem to have come up with this plan rather quickly, minister,” Hubert murmurs. “Almost as if you may have had this notion before.”

“I. Ah. Well,” Ferdinand says. “Perhaps not this exact situation, but…”

“But you find the danger thrilling, yes? The idea someone might hear your indiscretions?” Hubert murmurs, and it’s his turn to send a shiver through Ferdinand. He lifts his hand to Ferdinand’s cheek. “Well, well. Even now, you are full of surprises.”

“And you always did catch on rather quickly,” Ferdinand says, breathlessly, and kisses him.

This is extremely unprofessional, a small part of Hubert insists stridently, as their lips meet once, twice, harder and all too quickly part so that Ferdinand’s tongue can lick against his own. But kissing Ferdinand is so familiar, like coming home, and yet how long had it been since they’d allowed themselves time for this sort of passion? How could he have ever permitted a stretch of time where he wasn’t in Ferdinand’s arms like this?

They drink each other down like they’ve been dying of thirst.

And then it’s Hubert trying to hold back a strangled noise when Ferdinand’s hand starts to move again, travels further up his thigh. He can still hear the sound of the world outside the carriage all too clearly, the horses’ hooves against the gravel. It is foolish to continue like this. Rather shameful, in fact, he thinks, and that thought is enough to make him stifle a groan as he starts to feel his pulse more insistently between his legs.

“Shhh,” Ferdinand whispers against his lips, but his hand slides into the juncture of his thighs, rubbing a flat palm against him. It’s a gentle tease, but Hubert reacts with a faint, breathless gasp all the same, hips twitching towards the pressure. In retaliation, he drags the hand that had been cupping Ferdinand’s jaw up into his hair and tightens his grip just to pull a fragment of the same noise from Ferdinand’s own mouth. As Ferdinand’s head falls back, Hubert ducks and presses wet, insistent kisses up that golden throat, drags his tongue against the stretch of skin he knows will make Ferdinand shiver, takes his earlobe between his teeth.

Hubert wants to tug harder at Ferdinand’s hair and hear the sounds Ferdinand can make when there’s just a touch of cruelty between the kisses. He wants to worry marks into the delicate skin of his throat, see them bloom and mark Ferdinand his. But then there’s the brief rumble of conversation from the carriage driver to the footman again, so close above their heads, dragging him back to reality and sending another jolt of adrenaline along his spine.

It’s a moment of weakness Ferdinand fully takes advantage of, bending and nosing Hubert’s head upwards to kiss him on the mouth again, still sliding his hand back and forth gently between Hubert’s legs, not enough pressure for anything other than torment, even as Hubert’s hips start to rock on the seat, try to grind against the heel of Ferdinand’s hand. Ferdinand’s hips are shifting too, a restless movement against nothing, and Hubert can see the outline of his erection in his breeches.

Ferdinand throws himself into such intimacies with the same amount of gusto as he does any other part of his life, with his whole body and voice, and it’s rather charming how visibly he is holding himself back, stifling the noises he wants to make against Hubert’s mouth, touching him gently. _Trying to be good_ , Hubert thinks, sending another pulse of desire through him. But at the same time Hubert finds himself desperate to hear those sounds once again after so long without.

“Fuck it,” he says, pulling his hands away from Ferdinand, who lifts his head in confusion just in time to see the silence sigil Hubert draws and casts upon their carriage, the sound of the world outside suddenly dropping away as if they’ve been submerged in water.

“Minister von Vestra, you were hiding that one up your sleeve,” Ferdinand says, a little breathless but at his usual volume. “I can’t help but think that’s cheating.”

“Well, the need to be discreet was not without its thrills,” Hubert says. “But I find myself—” and he reaches to palm Ferdinand’s cock through his breeches, and finally, there’s the full bodied groan Hubert has been waiting for “—missing the sound of your lovely voice. Enough to cheat a little.”

Ferdinand swears, his hips jerk, and he presses his own hand more insistently between Hubert’s legs so that Hubert can grind harder against it. 

“There we go,” Hubert says, and kisses him again. Every sound from Ferdinand’s throat, every moan is precious, the voice of the divine, and even now Hubert still occasionally wonders how in the world fate conspired so that Hubert might be the one to hear it. Ferdinand’s voice, smell, the feel of Ferdinand’s length against his hand, it all has Hubert needy and wet in his smalls, and he needs more, wants more.

“Please,” he sighs, “More,” and Ferdinand laughs a ragged _ha_ against Hubert’s mouth. 

“More?” he echoes, amused. “Hmm, well, that can be arranged.” With that, he disentangles himself from Hubert and slides to the floor of the carriage in the space between the benches, scattering crumpled paper across the floor as he moves, and starts to unbutton Hubert’s trousers. Heat blooms in Hubert’s face but he lifts his hips anyway, and finds both his trousers and his smalls dragged down past his knees to the top of his boots. Another moment and Ferdinand’s head has insinuated itself into the gap between his thighs, and he wastes no time at licking a broad stripe between Hubert’s folds.

Hubert stifles a moan, but can’t help the next sound he makes as Ferdinand’s clever tongue fucks into him deliciously before returning to move against his clit. Even now Ferdinand cannot keep silent, cannot stop moving; he moans against Hubert and one hand strokes up and down his bare thigh while the other - before too long - slides a finger into him.

And oh, how he has missed this, missed the sight of that spilt copper between his thighs, a stripe of daylight from the bottom of the curtain setting it aflame. Ferdinand is beautiful like this, his eyes fluttering shut and then flicking open to meet Hubert’s own, golden eyelashes dusting his face, even as his lips and tongue continue their ministrations. Hubert cards fingers through Ferdinand’s hair he doesn’t let up, licking and sucking, fucking a finger into Hubert, until Hubert can feel his orgasm coiling tight and fast. His hands tighten again in Ferdinand’s hair and he grinds himself against Ferdinand’s tongue. He feels all the air leave him in a gasp as he comes, tightening around Ferdinand’s finger, still moving against his mouth.

It’s only after Hubert shivers with oversensitivity and tugs again at Ferdinand’s hair that Ferdinand lifts his head, his mouth and chin slick, damp and curved into a satisfied grin.

“Well, that was far more entertaining than going through the supply agreement,” he declares, his voice a little ragged, and then ducks out from under Hubert’s legs to kiss him before Hubert’s addled brain can think of a suitable retort. Hubert kisses his own taste out of Ferdinand’s mouth, holds his chin, laps the mess away until they’re both smiling.

“I've missed you,” Hubert blurts, then blinks as he realises how true it is. He hadn’t realised how much he could miss a man he saw every day. And yet here he is, aching with it.

Ferdinand shows no surprise or confusion. He kisses Hubert again softly. “I’ve missed you too, darling. It’s been a rather testing time, has it not?”

“I suppose it has, now that I have a moment to think of it,” Hubert says, stroking a hand down Ferdinand’s cheek fondly. “Necessary, but testing. I hadn’t really let it sink in until now. I suppose we were both rather carried along in the wave of progress.”

“Perhaps one day soon we ought to take one of these ‘holidays’ Dorothea keeps telling us about,” Ferdinand says with a wry grin, and Hubert snorts. Then kisses Ferdinand again, because he can, until the need winds its way back into their touches.

Hubert fumbles at the fastenings of Ferdinand’s breeches, still a little dumb-fingered, but it doesn’t matter so much when Ferdinand makes a delightful little gasp once Hubert has pulled him out and started stroking him back to hardness. And before long Ferdinand is making perfect little breathy moans with each stroke, with every pass over the head, with every kiss that Hubert presses against his throat as he touches Ferdinand.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Hubert hums into his ear, quietly even though the spell has removed the need. These words are for Ferdinand’s ears only. “I should be touching you like this every day. Have you thought about this? In your _other situations_?”

“Fuck, I— yes,” Ferdinand breathes.

“I thought so. Where else did you imagine me touching you?”

“I—” 

“Some garden summerhouse? In a box at the opera? Have you imagined more than that? What about trying to keep quiet as I fuck you in some guest room at a dull party? It would be so very scandalous, if someone were to find me pinning you down. Wouldn’t it?”

“Shit,” Ferdinand hisses, and Hubert has the presence of mind to duck down and catch the head of Ferdinand’s cock between his lips, laving his tongue once underneath the head before Ferdinand comes. It wouldn’t do for the Prime Minister to make a mess of himself before a meeting.

Not that the pair of them are particularly in order, Hubert thinks as he passes a thumb over his chin and then sucks at it languidly. His own trousers are still bunched and creased around his ankles. Ferdinand’s face is raw with kisses and his hair is tangled and unruly from all of Hubert’s pulling, and the supply agreement is in a crumpled pile on the floor. It is going to take the rest of their travels just to put themselves back into some semblance of respectability.

“On the bright side, darling,” Ferdinand says later, as they attempt to sort the papers back into order, “I do agree with you, now, not that we were better not to travel on horseback.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes when the world is topsy turvy you just have to write some porn to feel better.
> 
> Find me on twitter at @hausofthestars!


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